


The Rainbow Connection

by Morbane



Series: The Afro-Cuban Rainbow Bridge [1]
Category: Danger 5
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Crack, Gen, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bad news, everybody,” said Colonel Chestbridge. “The Nazis have destroyed the Afro-Cuban Rainbow Bridge connecting Havana and Ghana.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rainbow Connection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekingferret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingferret/gifts).



All was quiet in the Dangerpad, except for the clink of Pierre’s cocktail shaker. The team were enjoying, respectively, a bourbon on the rocks, a Harvey Wallbanger, home-made lavender lemonade, a Death in the Afternoon appropriate to the hour, and a Manhattan Perfect (which is extremely, life-affirmingly different from a perfect Manhattan).

“Bad news, everybody,” said Colonel Chestbridge. “The Nazis have destroyed the Afro-Cuban Rainbow Bridge connecting Havana and Ghana.”

Pierre made a choking noise, his hand flying out to his gramophone. Just when you thought the Nazis couldn’t sink any lower…

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “An attack on the Gold Coast! They must be after the gold.”

“That’s really very funny, Claire. Incorrect logic has brought you to the correct conclusion. The Nazis are after the perpetual pots of gold at the base of the rainbow.”

“How do you figure that?” said Jackson. “You can’t find the gold if there’s no rainbow.”

“Try to keep up. Hitler has a diabolical plan. As I speak, he is summoning unicorns to re-build the rainbow with landing points in Nazi-friendly territory. Instead of ending in Ghana, the new Rainbow Bridge will touch down in Nazi-controlled North Africa. The Nazis will have access to an unlimited supply of gold.”

Colonel Chestbridge came to the crux of his message. “In this case, we have an advantage! The forces of the Reich are famously short on virgins since the Nun Rebellion of ‘52. Your mission is to summon a flight of unicorns before Hitler can, and rebuild the bridge in Allied territory. And of course – kill Hitler!”

“Well,” said Tucker. “I’ll just get the summoning manual, shall I?”

Ilsa rolled her eyes, and jingled pointedly. She had already draped herself with strings of golden bells.

 

Tucker insisted on reading out the ritual to everyone else. “Clean space – so first we have to do the dishes.”

(A groan from all assembled. Ilsa rubbed at a disturbing stain on the revolving ottoman.)

“The virgin needs to fast,” Tucker continued. “No snacking and _absolutely_ no chocolate treat-time, Claire.”

“What about you?” she retorted. “The more virgins, the more powerful the summons, surely?”

There was an awkward silence. It was an all-around awkward situation.

“May I have a word in private?” Claire asked, and herded Tucker out.

“You’ve misrepresented yourself, Tucker,” she said. “All this time, I thought you admired my beliefs about… well. Fooling around. It’s for fools, you know.”

“Be realistic, Claire,” Tucker said, with hollow bravado. “Uprightness in women means something quite different to uprightness in men, ha ha..."

Before he knew it, he was flat on his back, his face stinging and already beginning to swell. “Just to get things clear,” said Claire. “You said no _snacking_ , not no smacking, correct? Ha _ha_...” and she turned on her heel.

 

Tucker played his recorder. Pierre struck a triangle. Ilsa swished her hips, jingling and jangling in an oddly sedate version of the Twist. Jackson read the words. Claire sat in perfect, silent boredom, still feeling ruffled, running through further possibilities for witty retorts. _Sometimes a chastity belt is just as handy as a utility belt!_ No, that was underwhelming; Ilsa could probably say it better in Russian. _The gold standard vs. the double standard?_ That had potential to be relevant in the mission ahead.

Tucker lowered his recorder, and a unicorn stepped down from the air.

 

The unicorn loved Claire. It hated everyone else.

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?” said Claire, who was trying to pretend this didn’t feel like the sincerest flattery she’d ever received.

Jackson frowned. “It sure is, if you’re going to _ride_ the unicorn across the sky.”

The unicorn didn’t want to run across the sky. It wanted to curl up in Claire’s lap and never move again. It wanted her to plait its hair, and nudged to tell her so. It shed iridescent white hairs on Claire’s uniform and whickered softly.

“I can’t get it to move,” Claire reported from the floor.

Jackson and Ilsa exchanged glances. Ilsa advanced. Ilsa shook her bells, and the unicorn recoiled, rearing up and planting its hooves on the floor with the improbable sound of deep gongs. Tucker winced, and dabbed blood away from his nostrils.

It seemed perfectly clear to Ilsa. The unicorn didn’t need to be ridden. They simply needed to play to dissolution as a strength, and herd the unicorn across the sky in their Danger Jets...


End file.
